


Renes Obsession

by zaticon1



Category: OCs - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 12:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaticon1/pseuds/zaticon1





	Renes Obsession

Renes' Obsession  
The party was as loud and throbbing as a graduation bash could hope to be.  
Thirty odd newly minted ìgrown-upsî, about to be set loose on the world, were  
doing everything they could to demolish the old high school gym, short of  
taking up sledge hammers and battering rams. Well, why not? They were, after  
all, opening a whole new chapter in their lives. Reneí, as one of the class,  
had that in common with them.  
Still, she wasnít thinking of graduation, or college, or vacation or even  
partying or dancing. Standing there, under the flashing strobes,enveloped in  
the blaring racket from the speakers, her heart raced as quickly as that of any  
of her gyrating classmates, but, she remained apart from the gaiety and the  
noise. All of it was background. Barely real. Of the crowd filling the dance  
floor, only Angelo seemed more than a shadow. Of the lights and decorations,  
the tables, chairs and shiny musical instruments, the pretty clothes and  
corsages, the smells of perfume and sweat, of food, punch and floor wax, the  
only tangible object seemed to be the soft drink cup in her chilled hands.  
She looked down at the cup. It was nearly empty, just a little bit of brown  
liquid and some melting ice cubes, but it was uncomfortably heavy in her grip.  
She suddenly realized how tired her arms felt and how much energy sheíd burned  
up on useless nervous tension. The cup sat on the flat of her left palm, the  
fingers of her right pressed gingerly against itsí sodden walls. When she  
tried to turn it, she saw that the waxy paper was soaked nearly to the point of  
collapse. Jesus, had she really been dithering for that long? Well, weather  
she had or not, she knew that sheíd better decide pretty soon if she were  
really going for it. If she could only work up thd nothing to do with school  
or diplomas and of which her classmates  
hadnít the vaguest clue. She took in a deep breath. It came in small, jagged  
fragments, like sobs.  
Angelo was still dancing on the other side of the room. She didnít need anyone  
to tell her that her crush on him had turned into a full blown obsession. A  
sickness. Sickness! She smirked. That was a good word to use, considering.  
The very fact that she could even stand to look at him, after the way heíd  
treated her all year, let alone after what sheíd eventually learned about him,  
proved how far gone she was. That sheíd come up with her crazy, desperate  
plan, and had taken it as far as she already had killed any remaining doubt.  
She felt liquid trickling into her hand, and once again looked down at the cup.  
It really was just about shot. If she kept stalling, it was going to fall  
apart in her hands. That might not be a bad thing, actually. If she just got  
a little bit careless, or if somebody bumped into her, the thing would come  
apart, and itís contents would wind up on the floor. Then, she could drop her  
stupid plan, and go home to bed. If she still couldnít get her mind off of  
Angelo, she could take care of that the same way sheíd been doing for most of  
the year.  
Then, she thought about Darla. In a way, the whole thing had gotten to be just  
as much about her about Angelo. She was the one he was dancing with, over  
there, or trying to. As usual, he was making a fool of himself chasing after  
her, while she kept dusting him off. Reneí couldnít imagine what Angelo saw in  
her. Yeah, she was tall and blond, but so was a fucking giraffe! She was sure  
as hell no supermodel. Were those blue eyes and that brassy yellow hair really  
enough to turn him into a complete idiot? Or was it just that she was  
unattainable? It seemed that that must be it. She certainly wasnít nice, or  
friendly. All semester, sheíd been dissing Angelo. Each time he made a play  
for her, sheíd make some snotty come back, usually a Sicilian joke; asking him  
what brand of stiletto he thought she should buy, or if his father could get  
her an ìaudienceî with John Gotti. It made Reneí crazy. Not just for Angelosí  
sake, either, but for but hers. She was Italian, too, God damn it! Not  
Sicilian, Like he was, but that wasnít the point.  
As Reneí watched, Darla threw back her head and gave out her horsey laugh; at  
Angelos expense, probably. Reneí would have put money on it. She wished that  
she, herself, could arrange something between ìMr. Gottiîand the titless cunt.  
That was another thing that irked Reneí. Darla was built like a twelve year  
old. Her own figure was probably about fifty times as good, and that wasnít  
just vanity. Any guy in the room would have said so. A lot of them had. They  
were always talking about her ìhot assî and her ìgreat wingsî which were not  
only nicely sized, but had the kind of nipples which always seemed to stay at  
least half hard, and visible even through a bra and blouse. There was no  
question that they were right. She was hot, and she knew it. It was only  
because sheíd been such a bitch, all year, to every guy who came after her,  
that she was here alone, tonight. That was literally the only reason. It was  
her own fault. Or Angelosí. Or Darlasí.  
She looked again at Darla and smirked. if sheíd worn anything like the tight  
reptile print pants that the girl had stuffed her bony ass into, sheíd have had  
half the studs in the room following her around like a conga line. Of course,  
the only one whom Darla had managed to hook that way was, as usual, Angelo.  
Shit!  
The funny thing was that she nearly had worn a pair of those pants. Theyíd  
been kind of a fad, for a while, and she had a pair. Finally, though, sheíd  
decided on a hip hugger skirt and a loose, billowy blouse. The skirt showed  
off what she had almost as well as the pants would have done, and they made  
what was underneath it more........ accessible. Ditto, the blouse. The satin  
was sheer enough to catch on the tips of her bra cups, flashing those two  
little dots which the guys seemed to like so much. It, too, would prove a  
minimal barrier to what was inside. If things went her way, and, in spite of  
everything, she had a good reason to think they might, these little advantages  
would help them proceed more smoothly.  
All of that was just fine, but it made her think of what she was going to have  
to put herself through, on order to finally get Angelosí attention. Suddenly,  
she wasnít the least bit angry at Darla. In that moment, all of her  
frustration and ire were focused directly on Angelo, for his utter lack of  
taste, sensitivity and self respect, and at herself, for the ridiculous extent  
to which she was letting him drive her. What did that say about her own self  
respect?  
Looking at it that way, she almost chucked the whole idea. She was a bare  
tenth of a second from throwing down the cup and going home, when Angelo  
happened to turn her way, making brief, inadvertent eye contact. In that  
instant, she was lost. The slant of his heavy eyebrow, as thick, black and  
lustrous as his ducktailed hair, the astonishing contrast both made with the  
brilliant white of his teeth, and the way his lean young ass moved under his  
stonewashed jeans, put her as deeply back in his power as sheíd ever been.  
Then, the crazy, unbelievable thing sheíd learned about him filled her mind,  
and the cup was at her mouth, the liquid down her throat and in her stomach,  
and her course for the evening unalterably set.  
She had a moment of utter panic. The thin reign sheíd managed to hold over her  
nerves broke, and her slight case of the shakes worsened to where they felt  
almost like a seizure. Her knees went weak. Waves of heat and cold washed  
over her, dampening every cleft of her body with sweat. Beads of it poured out  
onto her forehead and the space above her lip,  
She couldnít simply stand around any longer. She thought about going out onto  
the dance floor, but it just didnít seem like the right thing to do. It was  
too soon to approach Angelo, after all, even though she knew that she had to  
keep him in sight. If he took off, either chasing after Darla or some of his  
friends, all her work would be wasted. The thought was appalling. So what  
could she do, for the next few minutes, to keep the waiting from driving her  
mad. She looked around, and saw the snack table.  
ìOkay,î she whispered. She took a breath, as if steeling herself for an  
unpleasant chore. ìI donít.....really want to................... but okay.î  
None of the food looked good. That was no surprise, the way sheíd been eating,  
all day. Still, it didnít seem that looking at it should have been such a  
strong turn off. That was strange. And scary.  
She told herself that it was just her nerves. It must be. She dipped a potato  
chip into the bowl of guacamole, and took a bite. It wasnít too bad so she had  
a few more.  
She couldnít believe what a weird situation sheíd put herself into, and all  
because of a couple of small, chance events. A few weeks earlier, sheíd  
overheard Angelo give somebody his e-mail address, and had written it down, in  
her composition book. Sheíd thought for a long time about sending him a note,  
but decided not to. Sheíd already made it as clear as she could in person that  
she liked him, and it hadnít gotten her anywhere. So why would writing to him  
be any different? Still, sheíd kept the address, without really knowing why.  
Then, sheíd heard a disc jockey on the radio get all nervous when the guy he  
was interviewing told him about deja.news, on the internet. If somebody had a  
personsí e-mail address, heíd said, they could find every single posting that  
person had made, by going to that site and doing a search.  
That had given her an idea. If she looked through Angelosí postings, maybe she  
could find out some of the things that he liked. She could learn about them,  
and maybe convince him that she was interested in the same things. That might  
give her an edge. Well, sheíd found out all right. Sheíd expected that heíd  
be into sports, or music, or classic cars. He was always talking about his  
Aunt Michellesí old Cadillac; about how perfect it was. Thereíd been some  
notes like this, but only a few. Of the hundred or so postings that heíd made  
in the last two years, almost two thirds of them had been to one newsgroup; one  
of the dirty ones.  
It was a long time before Reneí could even make herself believe it. Once she  
did, she was utterly disgusted. When this wore off, she decided to try and  
understand it. This was something that she hadnít been able to manage.  
Sheíd gotten a handle on it as a fact, even mastered her horror of it for long  
enough for her attraction to Angelo to reassert itself, but, as she stood  
there, eating tasteless food in the middle of that noisy dance, comprehension  
was no closer to her than it had been on the day sheíd read the first  
unbelievable message on that creepy newsgroup.  
Angelo had sexual a fetish, one of which Reneí had never heard, or even  
dreamed. That was the first shock. The second was that he wasnít the only one  
with it. Besides the newsgroup, there were whole web pages devoted to it, and  
Angelo was one of the regulars on all of them.  
Heíd posted a story about something had happened to Linda, one day while she  
was working in the cafeteria, right before she dropped out of school. Heíd  
remembered, and included, every single detail. Reneí had been there, herself,  
when it happened, so she knew. And then, heíd told the group that, afterward,  
heíd gone straight to the bathroom and spent the rest of the lunch hour  
masturbating! Imagine admitting something like that!  
Heíd managed to take pictures of a couple of girls at parties, during the year;  
ones whom she knew. God, it was weird, seeing them on her computer, like that.  
He even wrote fictional stories, and he had fans, who waited for them, and  
asked for more! Sheíd collected as many of them as she could find, and read  
them over and over, still trying to make herself accept that what they told her  
about him was true. Finally, she had. Angelo, handsome, gorgeous, dreamboat  
Angelo, the object of her raging young lust, got turned on when he saw a girl  
throw up! 

Earlier in the spring, sheíd gotten a chance to test him. Sheíd been with a  
couple of her friends, at the mall, when Angí had happened by, with some of the  
guys. She pretended that she hadnít seen him, and, in a loud voice, announced  
that she hoped she wasnít ì........gonna vomit, again.î She lied that sheíd  
awoke during the night, feeling sick and ìalmost didnít make it to the  
bathroom.î and ì.........had to stay there, all night, with my head in the  
toilet .î  
When she saw that Angelo was listening, she kept on.... ìI was just in my  
little pajamas............and it was cold, on the floor, but I was....... you  
know..... afraid to try to get my robe.î  
It worked like magic. Angelo ditched his own friends, and hovered just inside  
earshot of her and the girls. They, on the other hand, were appalled, clearly  
wondering if they should get the hell away from Reneí, before something awful  
happened.  
It was Angelo who decided for them. He came swaggering over and asked Reneí if  
sheíd like to go have an ice cream. She pretended to think it over, then said,  
ìSureî. The hopeful, anticipatory way he watched as she stepped away from her  
friends both creeped her out and got her juices flowing, but it was nothing to  
the hungry, almost desperate way he looked at her while she ate the double  
strawberry cone she ordered. He might just as well have been watching her take  
of her clothes. That at last convinced her that he was for real, and that she  
had a truly powerful ace up her sleeve, if she cared to use it. Not long  
after, sheíd gone to the A. & P., and swiped the bottle of ipecac which had  
been hidden in her room until this evening.  
Remembering the ipecac brought her back to the moment. ìGod,î she thought.  
ìI really did it! ìOkay......Okay, get a grip..............You canít undo it,  
and itís not the end of the world, anyway. People take it every day. They  
even give it to little kids. Itís okay, if you do it right. And itíll  
probably get you what you want. î  
Sheíd set down the cup when sheíd reached the snack table. Now, she picked it  
up and swirled the contents. The ice had gone on melting, so that there was  
once again some liquid. She lifted it to her mouth and drained it in a sip.  
This time she could taste the difference. Sheíd waited until the Coke was  
almost gone, before sheíd poured in the emetic, and thereíd been scarcely one  
good mouthful left in the cup. Then, sheíd downed it too fast to notice, but  
now, she could taste the difference. Plainly. It was a lot sweeter than Coke  
usually was. It had a harshness, too, like bad wine. She shuddered. She  
guessed that was what made that work; whatever It was that the sweet syrup was  
designed to hide. Well, supposedly, she had some time to wait. She picked  
up a plate and began filling it with munchies. It seemed like a silly thing to  
do, considering, but what the hell. What was it going to do, make her sick?  
She gathered up a helping of deviled eggs, celery sticks, cheese, olives and  
crackers. She got another Coke, a can of it, this time, then went over and  
sat down in one of the folding chairs which were lined against the side wall of  
the gym. She set the Coke on the floor beside her, balancing the plate of food  
on her lap. She glanced across the gym, still keeping Angelo in sight.  
She stared down at the food on her plate, believing that nothing edible had  
ever looked so unappetizing. That got her thinking, again. Was the ipecac  
already working on her stomach, or was she just a mental wreck, from what she  
was going through? Or, was she just feeling punk because of all the stuff  
sheíd eaten before she left the house? She picked up one of the deviled eggs  
and looked at it. She imagined how it was going to taste, how vinegary the  
yolk would be, how slimy the white would feel on her tongue. She wondered if  
sheíd even be able to swallow it.  
ìOh, fuck it,î she whispered. She opened her mouth and wolfed the egg the way  
a dog would. It didnít taste nearly as bad as sheíd expected, so she had  
another. Sheíd downed a couple more before she thought that it might be a good  
idea to chew them more carefully, considering. It surprised her, how she  
seemed to be accepting the idea of throwing up, later. That seemed really  
strange. Well, that was like her, though. She had a tendency to just accept  
unpleasant things, once she knew they were definitely coming; things like tough  
exams, or going to the dentist, or......like throwing up, when she had to.  
The food went down okay, but the Coke gave her a bit of a problem. It was too  
fizzy. She shook the can to flatten out most of the bubbles, then sipped until  
sheíd finished about half of it. That was when she started feeling definitely  
funny in the stomach; not sick, exactly....... Uncomfortable, as if sheíd eaten  
too many corn chips, or something. ìOkay,î she thought. ìTime to party.î  
She got up to join in the dancing. The music was hot, and the motion would  
probably speed up her metabolism, and make the stuff in her stomach work  
faster. It might even make her a little bit motion sick, which would help.  
Motion sick. Those words made her feel a little bit scared, again. She knew  
what ìmotion sickî meant. She always had trouble in a car, and boats and  
planes were even worse. But, then, once ìit happenedî, she was always just  
fine. All she had to do was get her stomach empty.  
ìThatís what this is going to be like,î she assured herself. ìYouíre gonna  
feel bad for just a little while, then youíll get all that stuff out of your  
system, and youíll be all right. More than all right, hopefullyî She felt a  
little, lascivious grin pull up the corners of her mouth.  
She hoped that she was right about that. What if taking ipecac was like  
getting the stomach flu? She might throw up for days. ìWell,î she thought,  
grimly, ìYouíre gonna know, pretty soon.î  
She walked past the trash barrel, and she tossed away the soda can along with  
her plate and fork. As an after thought, she took a few knapkins from the  
buffet table and slipped them into her bra. Sheíd probably need them, later.  
Another wave floated up from her stomach as she reached the floor. It was  
stronger than the last; still not sickness, yet, but not good. Scary. A few  
of her friends beckoned her to join the frenzy, and she gave them a look which  
she supposed passed for a smile, but was, in fact, an instant of pure ìOh, my  
God!î terror. Then, the fear and the sickness subsided, and she gave herself  
up to the music, whipping her body to the it as enthusiastically as anyone on  
the floor. In a few minutes, she was having a genuinely good time. She tried  
to just go with it, and not wonder how long it was going to last. 

She had a trick that she liked to use, when she was dancing. Sheíd lean  
forward, than throw back her head and arms, cracking her upper body like a  
whip. It gave her a nice little head rush and made her tits do things that got  
noticed. Tonight was no exception, even though most of the boys had given up  
on her, after the way sheíd been wrapped up in Angelo, all year, she saw them  
watching. She let the music take her, as if it were a living partner. She  
didnít seem to notice the sensations building inside her, except during the  
breaks between the songs. Those were hard to handle. But, before things  
could get bad, the band would start in again, and she was fine. Then, the  
first set ended. The entire feeling of the room changed with the sudden  
silence. Suddenly dizzy, she staggered. No longer distracted by noise and  
motion, she felt the full strength of her sickness rush up in her. Only pure  
will power kept her from gagging.  
ìOhhhhhh........î she closed her eyes and swallowed, tasting the guacamole, the  
deviled eggs, and, worst of all, the ipecac.  
ìOkay.î she told herself. ìOkay,donít freak. It feels just like being in a  
car, like you thought. Youíre not gonna get sick right here. You can hold it.  
You always do. You always get to a bathroom, when you feel like this.î  
That was true. She had a little time. She was what she always called ìThree  
more miles sickî, sheíd when she was riding in a car. She had a little time,  
but she had to find Angelo. She looked around, and couldnít spot him. She had  
a bright moment of panic, then caught site of him, heading for the rest room.  
Perfect.  
She headed after Angelo, making sure that she didnít get to the bathroom ahead  
of him. She gave him enough time, then stood by the door and waited. He  
seemed to take an awfully long time. When he finally reappeared, she didnít  
need to pretend to her distress.  
ìAngelo..........î  
He turned and looked down, his usual disdainful expression coming onto his face  
when he recognized her.  
ìAw, JEEZ, Reneeeeí, not TíNIGHT........î He started to walk away, but she  
reached out and hooked him by the elbow. When he turned back toward her, she  
realized that her sickness must have been incredibly obvious. The change his  
manner told her that sheíd won.  
She let go of his arm, and placed the tips of her fingers lightly on her  
sternum. The other hand was already pressed against her stomach, partly for  
effect, partly because she really was struggling. She took a hard swallow,  
then spoke in a throaty whisper.  
ìAngelo..........please, please, canít you just be nice, to me, just once? I  
need to get outta here. I think.........I guess I ate something  
bad.....Angelo........Angelo I need a ride home. I canít stay here! Iím gonna  
get sick. I KNOW I am!î  
Angelo simply stood there, staring at Reneí Good. She had him. It working,  
but he was wasting time. She had to get out of here.  
ìAngelo.... Take me home, PLEASE!î  
ìYou really gonna throw up?î  
ìANGELO!!!!!!!!!!!! I donít  
have...................TIME......................Please!î  
ìUh, okay. Yeah, okay, sure. Listen, maybe you just need some air.î  
He put his hand on her shoulder. Reneí realized, through her nausea, that it  
was the first time that heíd ever touched her.  
ìLetís get outsideî  
Angelo steered Reneí, through the crowd, his hands on her shoulders. Sheíd  
expected trouble getting past the chaperons, but they either didnít see her and  
Angelo heading for the door, or read Renesí body language and stayed out of the  
way. They got away, easily.  
That wasnít the best of it, though. The really funny part was the look on  
Darlasí face, when she saw Angelo leaving with her. If Reneí hadnít been  
fighting so hard to make it outside in time, she would have laughed.  
Sheíd expected the night air to buy her a little more time, but the sudden  
shock of it somehow made her feel infinitely worse. Sheíd felt the same way  
many times, but, when that final wave of killing sickness hit her, she always  
went into a blind panic. She took a deep breath and held it, clamping her jaws  
as tightly as she could. Just as desperately, her arms wrapped around her  
waist, hunching up her shoulders. Almost instantly, though, she knew that she  
had to do get rid of the saliva in her mouth. She didnít dare swallow it. A  
far away part of her mind told her that she was being stupid, that sheíd known  
that she was going to throw up the instant that sheíd swallowed that mouthful  
of Coke. That she HAD to throw up, to get rid of the poison in it. That she  
had to do it if she wanted Angelo to want to fuck her. All of that was true,  
and sensible and logical........but her body wouldnít let go of itsí animal  
fear. Then, it didnít matter. The stuff in her mouth tasted horrible. She  
had to get rid of it. She gathered it onto her tongue, and spat. In her  
upset, she put too much into the effort, and shocked her stomach. Even so,  
there was too much in her mouth to get rid of, cleanly. It came out in a big  
glob that strung down from her lip. The sound, turning into a dry retch, was  
horrible.  
ìPa-THHhhhh....uuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..........î  
Angelosí hands slipped around her waist, as she leaned over. Even though sheíd  
been fantasizing about it for months, the pressure against her stomach felt  
horrible. Sheíd have sworn, at that moment, that sheíd never felt so awful in  
her entire life. But she remembered thinking that same thing, every time she  
got this close. All that it really meant was that it was really here; going to  
happen; that it wasnít just possible, anymore.  
She unfolded her arms and leaned over, hands on her thighs. She let her mouth  
go slack and stared down at the dollar sized glob that had had come out of her  
mouth, feeling absolutely horrible, but surrendering as she always did, when  
the time came. Angelo stood beside her, his hand making slow circles in the  
place between her shoulder blades.  
Angelo finally spoke. ìëThat all?î  
She shook her head. ìUh uh................Letís get away from here.î  
ìOkay.î  
She tried to head for the back of the building, but felt Angelo steer her  
toward the parking lot. She knew why. Naturally, she wanted a private, dark  
place to get sick, but he wanted to see what happened. So he wanted her under  
the lights. Well, okay. If it worked for him, it was going to work for her.  
The awful throw up taste was filling her mouth, again. In it, she tasted the  
deviled eggs, and thought about all the stuff sheíd eaten that day. Sheíd  
stuffed herself, thinking about what she was going to do, and it was all a lot  
of crazy stuff; things sheíd never ordinarily have eaten. Angelo was always  
talking about the color of a girls vomit. He liked it light colored. So sheíd  
thought of everything she could that was either yellow or white. Bread and  
cream of wheat. Scrambled eggs and fettuccine. Scrambled eggs for lunch.  
Uggh. UGGH! Even creamed corn, because heíd talked about it. She almost  
hadnít been able to go through with that part. It had already looked like  
sickie, just heating up in the pan. But sheíd eaten all of it with a spoon,  
standing right there at the stove. And, now, she couldnít stop thinking about  
it. She always did that when she was safely in a bathroom, or someplace else,  
where she wanted to get sick, and that was all right. The funny thing was that  
she even did the same thing when she was trying NOT to get sick, like in a car.  
She could never stop thinking about food; about the last things sheíd eaten,  
and weather she was going to see them, again..........what theyíd look like, if  
she did. Or worse. Awful things, like the can of old grease on the stove, in  
the kitchen........garbage in the alley behind the house.........that horrible  
refrigerator in her unclesí cabin, that time.......  
They were halfway across the parking lot. She knew that she should try to  
control herself, at least until they got where they were going, but she was  
probably going to make it. She felt a little burp rise in her throat, and  
figured that it would be okay to let it out. Suddenly, her mouth was filled  
with thick, warm Coke. It splattered onto the pavement as if it were being  
poured out of a cup. There was a lot of it and it was full of chewed egg white  
and slimy yolk. Even a little bit of guacamole, looking green and somehow  
curdled.  
She broke away from Angelo and ran the last few yards to the edge of the  
parking lot. He was only a moment behind her, and when she stopped, bracing  
herself to be sick, he was instantly with her, his arms around her middle, one  
grazing the underside of her breasts, the other almost magically finding the  
very center of her distress. He leaned over with her, his cheek against hers,  
almost as if her were bending over to be sick, himself. She giggled, not even  
minded what the jostling did to her stomach. God, he was so obvious, even  
without the hardness that was pressing up against her ass. She shifted against  
it and felt him move up and down the cleft of her buttocks, actually dry  
humping her. She closed her eyes, trying to forget her stomach, to just enjoy  
having him touch her. He felt her response and, emboldened, stiffened his arms  
and pulled her back against him. She twisted in his grasp, took in a huge,  
sucking breath, and vomited out a long, hot stream as thick as her arm..  
ìThaaaaatís it, Baby. Just let it all out. Thatís what you need. Donít try  
to fight it.î  
She barely heard him, over the noise she was making. It didnít matter. Until  
she got her stomach empty, she wasnít going to be able to think of anything.  
else.took That was always the way it was, whenever she got sick. There was  
never very much, at first, and then, if there was much in her stomach at all,  
it just poured out of her. And there was a lot in her stomach, this time.  
Sheíd made sure there would be.

ìhhhhhhhlllLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLlllluuhhhh...î  
along with the Sometimes, when she wanted to get over being sick, she thought  
about the grossest things she could imagine. She ran her mind back over the  
past few years, searching. Last summer, sheíd been sitting at the kitchen  
table, reading a magazine, while she ate nearly an entire bag of oatmeal  
cookies, dunked in glass after class of milk. She was already feeling punk  
when she gulped the last swallow from the glass, and felt something on her  
tongue. Sheíd taken it for a crumb and nearly bitten into it, but something  
had warned her not to. Sheíd spat it into her hand, and seen that it was a  
dead fly. Sheíd had a horrible vision of itsí filthy gut sack bursting on her  
tongue, and lurched to the sink, where every last thing in her stomach came up  
all over the dirty dishes.  
She was stunned by how hard the memory hit her, even after so many months. The  
contents of her stomach came gushing up in a dreadful, endless series of  
wrenching spasms which she couldnít have stopped if her life had depended on  
it. Yellow curds, borne on thick, sour liquid flooded her mouth and nose,  
splattering onto the blacktop in an impossibly huge puddle. Once, a chunk of  
something stuck to the back of her tongue, triggering another retch before she  
could draw in her breath. It came up soundlessly, not making a noise until it  
hit the ground. After that, she had a respite, long enough to let her catch  
her breath, long enough, in fact, to make her wish that something would happen,  
so that she could feel better. She was at that point where she hung suspended  
between being sick and well. Enough had come up to give her some relief, but  
she could feel the rest of it down there, torturing her insides, refusing to  
give her what she wanted. The full reality of throwing up was coming back to  
her, all of tiny nuances that she hadnít even known sheíd forgotten. Oh, she  
remembered most of it, enough to make the idea scary as hell, but not the  
details. Things like the actual feeling of it, forcing her throat open, so it  
could come out. How her muscles cramped, in the damnedest places. That she  
could smell vomit in her nostrils, she took a breath. That the sounds she  
herself was making were loud enough to hurt her ears. It was strangely like  
being back at the dance, before sheíd taken the ipecac. Nothing seemed quite  
real. Not even Angelo, pressing his body into hers. The violence and power of  
what her own body was doing to her shut out everything else.  
Dimly, she heard Angelo encouraging her to just let it happen.......get it out  
of her system......throw up all the bad stuff, so she could get better.  
Well, what else could she do, she wondered, with the tiny part of her mind  
which was still clear. She relaxed into Angelos grip and just gave herself up  
to the event.  
At long last, it stopped. If Angelo hadnít been holding her, she wouldnít have  
been able to stand. She was that exhausted. For long minutes, she simply  
stood there, shaking, trying to catch her breath, spitting to clear the taste  
out of vomit from her mouth, marveling at the size of the puddle at her feet.  
All of that had come out of her body. But it couldnít have. It just wasnít  
possible. Not even when it had taken so long.  
Eventually, she cleared her throat and turned away from the mess. She reached  
in and got some of her knapkins, wiped her eyes and mouth, then blew her nose.  
She wadded the knapkin, and was about to toss it away, when Angelo stopped her.  
ìHey, woah, just a second.î  
He took the knapkin and wiped a place far back on her jaw.  
ìYou missed a spot.î  
She couldnít figure out how she could have gotten vomit so far from her mouth,  
but didnít say anything. She wasnít quite ready to use her voice, and besides,  
what difference did it make? She did notice, though, that he didnít throw away  
the knapkin.  
She leaned against Angelo and put her head on his chest. Oh, she was worn out,  
but she felt SO much better.  
ìThrowing up is really good for a sick stomach,î she thought. In her woozy,  
wrung out state, it actually sounded like an insight.  
Angelo put his arms around her and cupped her head in his hand.  
ìYou know, youíve got really pretty hair.î He gave her a little squeeze and, to  
her surprise, a little kiss on the top of her head. She was delighted at the  
genuine tenderness. She slid her hands beneath his arms and pressed herself  
against him. She had a moment of surprise when the stiffness sheíd expected at  
his crotch wasnít there. Then, she caught on, and suppressed a dirty little  
giggle.  
ìMmmmmm...........î she thought. ìIs that a boiled linguini in your pocket, or  
were you just REALLY glad to see me. Well, guess thereís some more time to  
kill.  
ìI want some water,î she whispered.  
ìYeah, sure. Címon, weíll go to Wawaís. It ainít far. ëFew blocks.î  
The walk was slow and nice. Angelo kept his arm around her. She leaned on his  
shoulder, liking the scent of his cologne and his leather jacket, and the way  
his whole attitude had seemed to change, like magic. There was an unmistakable  
tenderness about him that sheíd never in her wildest imagining have suspected.  
Could it really be just because sheíd vomited in front of him? Incredible.  
ìWhat do you think made you throw up?î he asked, almost whispering.  
She thought of a perfect white lie, one that would explain what had happened,  
and, if things were really as they seemed, probably make him even more  
interested.  
ìI donít know. It just..........happens, some times. Iíve always had kind of  
a sickie stomach. I know, sometimes, if I eat too much......you know.....î  
ìThink you ate too much at the dance?î  
ìNo...........not at the dance, not really. But I was hungry, all day, and I  
did eat a lot before the dance. Maybe some of it was bad, or maybe it was  
just, I donít know, too..... Mixed up, or something.î  
She realized, with surprise, that nothing she was telling him was really  
untrue. Her stomach wasnít very strong, even for a young girl, and she really  
could get herself into trouble, if she ate too much. Milk and oatmeal cookies  
came back to mind. Bad smells, or gross things were really bad, too,  
especially if sheíd just eaten, or was already feeling bad. Of course, none of  
these things had made her do it, tonight, but that didnít mean they couldnít  
have.  
ìSo, you get sick a lot, then?î  
ìYeah, I do......kinda.î  
ìWow. Bummer.î  
He put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him, and they walked  
the rest of the way in silence.  
When they reached the bright glass and metal store front, her even held the  
door for her. It was incredible, as if theyíd been boyfriend and girlfriend  
forever.  
ìIím gonna go in the bathroom,î she said.  
ìYou sick again?î  
ìAw, no. I just want to, you know, wash my face and everything.î  
ìSure.î  
When she came out, Angelo was holding a pint bottle of Crystal Springs, and a  
box of saltines.  
ìHere, these are supposed to help, when youíre sick.î  
Reneí was pleased that Angelo didnít take her back to the dance. Instead, they  
wondered around for a while, talking and eating saltines until they wound up  
back in the school parking lot. Angelosí car was parked under one of the light  
poles.  
ìLike it?î  
ìItís nice.î  
ìItís a ë51 Ford. Itís a two door. And thatís good. Nobody wants a sedan.  
I found it on the net. Itís from New Mexico. Thatís good, too, because they  
donít salt the roads out there, and it ainít all rusted out like the old cars  
around here.  
Reneí leaned down and looked through the window, at the red and white naugahyde  
upholstery.  
ìI like the inside.î  
ìItís tuck and roll. Itís really comfortable.î  
He reached into his pocket and took out his keys. He unlocked the door and  
gestured Reneí inside.  
ìYouíre right, it is.î She leaned back against the seat and took another drink.  
She was so wrapped up in what was happening that it took a moment for her to  
notice that the water tasted just a little bit strange.  
Shrugging off the idea, she looked over at Angelo.  
ìI really like it.î  
ìThanks. My dad and I drove down to pick it up, two years ago, and he helped  
me lower it. Not TO MUCH,î he added, quickly. I mean, I didnít want no low  
rider. But it looks better just a LITTLE lower than stock. And I had the  
upholstery done, last summer. Cost me a bundle, but Iím glad I did.î  
Reneí nodded. The car was done in black primer.  
ìYou gonna paint it?î  
ìYeah, some day. You ever see this movie, ëFireball 500?íî  
Reneí shook her head.  
ìOh, itís hot! Angelo leaned foreward, holding out his hands, as if he were  
describing the size of a prize fish. Itís got this custom Plymouth Barracuda.  
George Barris built it. Heís this guy that did movie cars, in the ë60s!  
Remember the Batman show? He made the Batmobile. Anyway this Barracuda all  
white in front, and then the paint fades to yellow and red. Not flames,  
though. Everybody does flames. This was different. The whole car was painted  
like that. And thatís what I want. Only, I want the base to be dark blue.  
Almost black, even.îand  
Reneí thought it was really sweet, how pumped Angelo was getting. But first,  
Iím gonna change the engine, first. See Itís still got the flathead, and I got  
this guy in Jersey, who wants it for this deuce highboy heís got.  
He wants to trade me this bitchiní Chrysler mill.î  
ìA hemi.î  
Angelo stopped in his tracks. ìYou know about cars?î  
ìA little.î Actually, all she knew was what sheíd picked up from Angelosí  
postings on the net. But she could learn.  
He sat there, just staring at her. She absolutely loved the look on his face.  
It was so far from the tough guy swagger sheíd been trying to get past for so  
long that she almost couldnít believe that he was the same guy.  
ìHey, you know, Reneí..........î He looked down at the floor of the car door a  
moment, thinking.  
ìYou know, all this year, I kind of..........I mean.........I know you  
were....I mean I KNEW you were..... And I...........I wish I  
hadnít...........you know...............î  
Reneí put out her hand and lifted his face to hers.  
ìShhh.....î She put her forefinger to his lip, still holding the bottle of  
water. He smiled, clearly happy to be off the hook, then took the bottle drank  
from it, and handed it back to her.  
She drank the last swallow. It was warm, and slightly brackish, a taste which  
lingered in her mouth. She found herself not quite listening, when Angelo went  
on.  
ìMy aunt Michelleís got this immaculate ë59 Cadillac. It was my uncle Franksí.  
Heís dead, but she kept it. Itís just perfect. It was the first car he ever  
bought, and it ainít restored, or nothiní. He kept it just like new, for all  
that time. And it rides better than a new one. You outta try it.î  
The idea of riding in a car brought Reneí back to the thought sheíd been trying  
to ignore. She hadnít waited long enough before eating and drinking.  
ìIíd like to. But, you should know.........î she placed her hand,  
meaningfully, on her stomach. ìI canít ride very far in cars.î She put the  
empty water bottle down on the floor of the car and sat up. ìEspecially old  
cars.î  
She swallowed, looking scared. ìI wish I hadnít drank all that water.î  
She opened the door of the car and leaned over. She didnít want to throw up  
again, but she didnít want to feel bad, either. She forced herself to cough, a  
hard, ìAH-HUUUK!î which whracked her whole body. Her mouth filled with water  
and crackers.  
Angelo slid over and gathered up her hair. Again, she felt the unambiguous  
sexuality of his movent. No longer next to her on the seat, heíd climbed atop  
her, when sheíd leaned out of the car to be sick. He was hard, again, his  
hands moved up over her belly until they grazed the undersides of her breasts.  
She raised her hands to push herself back toward Angelo. The move brought his  
hands nearly to her nipples, and pressed the thickness of his penis into the  
cleft of her ass. She went on throwing up, wave after wave, the water and  
crackers coming out of her mouth with a series of little growling sounds.  
When it was over she lay beneath Angelo, recovering from the effort. Throwing  
up was SUCH hard work. Much harder than she remembered. Finally, she cleared  
her throat, and spoke, teasingly.  
ìYou must be really horny, if you can do that even with me throwing up.î  
She wiggled against his cock, as if she thought he might not realize what she  
meant by ìthatî.  
Angelo didnít say anything, and Rene noticed, with a touch of irony, that he  
was trembling, exactly as sheíd done, right after drinking the ipecac. She  
rolled over beneath him. Now, his erection was pressing right into her, the  
zipper of his jeans actually driving the little cotton vent in the crotch of  
her panties in past her outer lips. That was when she first realized that she.  
Too, was aroused. What sheíd just gone through had been too overwhelming for  
her to notice, until that moment, but, in that moment, Angelosí blatant sexual  
behavior caught up with her. She saw that she was as wet, and her breasts were  
as tight as if she and Angelo had been making out all evening.  
She felt an empty, not unpleasant growl in her stomach, and was delighted to  
realize that she no longer felt the least bit sick; that she was, in fact,  
probably going to want something to eat, later. She looked up into Angelosí  
face. Even in the dim light, she could see that the arrogance which she was so  
used to seeing in it was utterly gone. Happily, she sighed, not the least bit  
surprised when he closed his eyes and drew in her pungent breath.  
ìOhhhhhhh..............î his sigh sounded every bit as soft and breathless as  
her own, when she answered

ìYeeessss..........î She put her hands to the sides of his head and pulled  
his mouth down on hers, sliding her tongue past his lips before their faces  
even touched. In a moment, his hands were under her skirt, seeking the hem of  
her panties. As she arched her back to help him, her own fingers found their  
way to the clasp of her bra. Then, his pants were open and lowered past his  
knees. He wasnít wearing shorts. With a lith, bicycle motion, she kicked off  
her panties, actually hearing a tiny ìpluhtî when they hit the floor of the  
car. She opened herself to him, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands to  
her naked breasts.  
ìAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH..... YEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!î She screamed when he came into her.  
Her body was as ready as it could possibly be, but, God, he was so strong, and  
big, and hot, and sheíd imagined this so many times....  
ìAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
!!!!!î  
Her throat was raw and aching from the vomiting, but she was oblivious to the  
pain. She screamed again, as he drew back and drove into her, not in pain, but  
in utter triumph, in awe of what it was really like, finally lying beneath him,  
after so many hopeless months. Never come close, in her most desperate moment,  
had her mind conjured the palest ghost of the reality.  
There was a singing in her ears, and a cloud over her vision as sensation took  
her away. It was like the sickness come again, she thought, huge and  
irresistible. She understood then, for just an instant, about fucking and  
throwing up. How the two of them could get tangled up in a personsí head.  
Then, it was gone. Thought and understanding dissolved. Everything was  
liquid. Sweat. The wetness of herself, welcoming Angelo into her, the mutual  
sweat of their bellies, sliding together, into him...him into her....awaiting  
the throbbing gush which would come at any second, now, triggering her own  
release....liquid.........everything was liquid....That made so much sense, it  
seemed. Somehow, it explained everything.


End file.
